


Risky Business

by squadrickchestopher



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: (loosely), Canon-Typical Violence, Creepy Brock Rumlow, Established Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, F/M, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Interrogation, M/M, Multi, Pre-Slash, Sex Worker AU, Sex worker Clint Barton, Terrible Sex Puns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-16 00:40:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29692374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squadrickchestopher/pseuds/squadrickchestopher
Summary: “Oh boy.” Clint grins at him. “So I’m an escort and a spy tonight? I’m pretty sure there’s a movie about this somewhere. This is like...sex espionage.”“Sexpionage,” James says, “is the term. Except you’re an escort masquerading as a spy, not a spy masquerading as an escort, so I’m not sure if it applies.”
Relationships: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 8
Kudos: 91
Collections: Poly Armory Tropes and AUs, Winterhawk Bingo Round Two





	Risky Business

**Author's Note:**

> filling sex worker AU for WHB, also part of the Poly Armory server challenge. Literally has nothing to do with the movie Risky Business, i just thought the title fit. Tagging this at midnight so if I missed something let me know, i am very tired.

“Absolutely not.”

Nat sighs. “I need you to.”

“Nat, _no_.”

“It’s one time, Clint.”

“I am not—this isn’t my job, Nat!”

“You’ll be paid for it.”

“That’s not what I meant—”

“And you’ll be perfectly safe.” She puts a hand on his arm. “Clint, please. James _needs_ a date, and I would do it, but I have to be his backup. I’m sorry. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t an emergency.”

Clint rubs a hand over his face, regretting it a moment later when he remembers he’s wearing a face mask. He scowls at the goop smeared on his hand now, then looks at her. “Tash—”

“Clint,” she says softly. “We’ve been working on this for so long. This is the last time our target’s going to be in town, and it’s the closest we’ve been in months. We _need_ you. Please.”

He scowls again, but he already knows he’s going to say yes. Natasha and James are his oldest friends, and it’s only because of the two of them that he’s even standing here right now. She’d never bring it up or use it against him, but he _owes_ them. Owes them for everything, including the roof over his head.

“Okay,” he says after a minute. “Okay. Fine. I’ll go be eye candy.”

“Thank you,” she says, and hugs him. That’s how he knows this is truly serious—Nat’s not really one for physical affection outside the bedroom, or even in it. This must be an even bigger deal than what she’s letting on. “ _Thank_ you.”

“No big deal.” Clint pats her on the back with his un-gooped hand. “I’m gonna go wash my face, and then I guess you have an outfit for me?”

“I do,” she says. “A very nice suit.”

“You have it already?”

“Yes. It’s in my closet.”

He frowns. “You didn’t know I was going to agree.”

“I did.” She pats his chest. “Go shower. I’m doing your makeup, too. No arguments.”

“I can do my own damn makeup,” he calls after her.

“I know,” she calls back. “I can do it better.”

It’s true, unfortunately. Clint’s good at makeup, but he’s never quite been able to master the sheer perfection that she has. So he goes and showers, singing Britney Spears as loudly as he can just to annoy her. Which probably isn’t a good idea when she’s going to be having a sniper rifle trained on him all night, but he’s certain she’s not going to shoot him.

Mostly certain, anyway.

He gets out and wraps in a towel, then pads into her bathroom. “Sit,” she says, pointing at the closed toilet. “Next time I hear Britney Spears in the shower, I’m turning off the hot water.”

“How dare you,” Clint says. “She is a _queen_.”

She raises an eyebrow. “I said, sit.”

He sits. “What’s the plan for tonight, then?”

“You’re going to go as James’ date. I’m watching you both from a distance. You drink, you smile politely, you mingle. James might ask you to provide a distraction so he can get the information he needs.”

Clint frowns. “I’m not—” He stops, because he can’t quite figure out how to phrase what he means. He’s an escort, yeah, and he’s happy to go as James’ date, but he doesn’t really want to be passed around to other people. Even just for flirting. It makes him feel cheap.

“You trust me?” she asks, picking up the eyeliner.

“For makeup, or for this?”

“Both.”

He nods.

“Then keep doing that,” she says. “If I could lay out the evening for you step by step, I would. But I’m not entirely sure what’s going to happen. All I can tell you is that you’ll have me and James both as backup, and if you’re uncomfortable at any point, you just say the word and you can leave.”

“Even if it compromises your mission?”

“Yes.” She smooths his hair back. “We can make it work, Clint. But I’m not risking you more than I have to. Emotionally or physically. Understand?”

“Okay,” he says softly. “I trust you.”

“Good,” she murmurs, and goes back to work.

It takes her maybe half an hour, but she doesn’t let him look in a mirror until he’s been completely dressed to her liking, fingers deftly looping the tie around his neck. “Yes, you have to wear it,” she says before he can protest. “Deal with it.”

“Fine,” he grumbles, turning to look in the mirror. “Oh—okay. Wow.”

“You look good,” she agrees, adjusting the tie a little more. “James will be very pleased.”

“He’d better.” Clint smooths down the front of his suit. “Where are we meeting?”

“I’ll drive,” she says, and goes into her room, picking up her sniper rifle.

Clint raises an eyebrow. “The big one, huh?”

“It’s a big job,” is all she says, and gestures at the door. “After you.”

* * *

James looks _incredible_.

Not that Clint thought he would otherwise, but holy fuck, James looks good enough to eat. He’s in an all black suit, and his hair is cut short now—like just on the too-long side of military short, and it is _doing_ things to him.

“Down, boy,” Natasha says, nudging him.

“I can’t help it.” Clint watches him on the other side of the safe house kitchen, doing his best not to openly drool or anything. He’s not going to make a move, he and James are just friends, but he’s definitely going to admire. “ _Look_ at him, Nat.”

“I see him,” she says dryly, and hands him a hearing aid. “Here. Put this on. We’re using this place as our headquarters. The team will be here. I’ll be onsite with you and James. They’re the support, I’m your direct backup.”

“And we’re playing bait.” He takes the hearing aid. “This looks like one of mine.”

“It’s similar. There’s comms wired into it so we can talk to you. I had Tony make it with the same specifications as yours.”

Clint swaps them, nodding as the two tech guys test it. “Yep. Works good.”

James comes over then, smiling warmly at Clint. “Hey, you.”

“Hey,” Clint echoes, trying to pull his brain off its one-track path. “You look really good.”

“So do you.” James adjusts his tie, and _poof_ , there goes his concentration.

_Just friends_ , he reminds himself. _Just friends. Nothing more. He and Nat are the only things you have, do not ruin this because you can’t keep it in your pants for a night._

He pulls himself back to the moment, and steps back a little from James. “I have to,” he says after a moment. “I’m the eye candy, remember?”

“You’re my date,” James corrects smoothly, and Clint wonders if he’s imaging the little flash of disappointment that goes across his face as Clint moves away. “You’re not just there to look pretty, I’ll need your help looking for things.”

“Oh boy.” Clint grins at him. “So I’m an escort and a spy tonight? I’m pretty sure there’s a movie about this somewhere. This is like...sex espionage.”

“Sexpionage,” James says. “Is the term. Except you’re an escort masquerading as a spy, not a spy masquerading as an escort, so I’m not sure if it applies.”

“It applies. I’m making a rule. It totally applies. I’m a sexpionage expert. A sexpert.”

“Stop making sex puns,” Natasha says, strapping a knife to her thigh.. Clint would ask if she’s expecting trouble, but he’s known her long enough to know she never goes out with any less than five accessible weapons on her person.

“That’s part of my job,” Clint tells her, and she rolls her eyes. “Are we ready to go?”

“Yes. We’ll drop you two off out front. You know all the signals in case you need an out?”

“Safe words are also part of my job,” Clint says, and James hastily turns his laugh into a cough as she rolls her eyes again. “Yes, Tasha. I’m good. I trust you.”

“Go get in the car,” she says, a tiny smile tugging at her mouth.

“This way,” James says, directing Clint out of the house. He even opens Clint’s car door for him, like a proper gentleman, and it makes Clint a tiny bit melty inside.

_Just friends_ , he reminds himself again, a little more firmly. _Nothing else. Do not ruin this._

James slides in the other side of the backseat, and taps the divider twice. The car pulls away from the curb, and he leans back, studying Clint.

“Got something on my face?” Clint finally asks. “If the makeup’s off, blame Nat. She did it.”

“You look great,” James assures him, an unreadable expression crossing his face for a moment. “Really great. No, I was just thinking about tonight.”

“You nervous?”

“No.” Clint raises an eyebrow, and James shrugs. “Yes, okay. A little bit. Nat told you what’s up?”

“I got the details, yeah.”

“It’s a big deal,” James says softly. “We’ve been working to bring this guy down for almost two years.”

He nods. “I know. You’ve been after him for a long time. I understand.” He leans over and puts a hand on James’ knee. “Whatever you need me to do, I’ll help.”

James’ eyes flick down and up so fast that Clint almost thinks he imagined it. “I appreciate it,” he murmurs after a second, shifting a little in his seat.

They arrive at the party only a few moments after that, and Clint withdraws his hand, unsure what to do exactly with the little curl of arousal in his gut. He knows what he _wants_ to do—

“Here,” James says, handing him an embossed invitation. “Entrance ticket. You’re Clint Barnes, by the way. Someone in the office apparently had a sense of humor.”

Clint tries not to think about that—mostly because the idea of being Mr. Barnes is not going to help his pants situation any—and he reaches for his door handle. “Who are you?”

“James Brosnan.”

Clint tilts his head. “Is that supposed to be a James Bond reference?”

“Yes.”

He snorts and opens the door. “I knew it.”

They get out and walk around to the red carpet, following it up the stairs through an open set of doors. Their invitations are checked and taken, and then they’re directed down a hall and into a courtyard. There’s already couples milling around out here, everyone dressed to the nines. Clint loops his arms through James’, putting on his best smile. He’s probably biased—okay, he’s _very_ biased—but they’re definitely the best-looking couple here.

“Shit,” James suddenly mutters, and tugs him out of sight behind a pillar. “Brock Rumlow is here.”

Clint frowns. “Is that bad?”

“He’s working for Pierce,” James murmurs. “The target. He’s not supposed to be here. There might be a complication we don’t know about.” He leans forward, almost like he’s going to kiss Clint, and puts his mouth by his ear. “You get that, Nat?”

“Got it,” she says to both of them.

“How do you want to proceed?”

Clint tries to make himself listen. It’s hard, because James is pressed up against him, body almost flush against his, and he’s _so_ close, and if Clint just turned his head a little he’d probably kiss him—

“Got it,” James murmurs, and leans back. Clint realizes he missed the entire conversation about what happens next, then decides it’s probably fine. They’ll tell him what to do. He’s not a spy, he’s just playing at one.

He looks over his shoulder, seeing Rumlow moving through the crowd. “Will he be a problem?”

“No,” James says, frowning. “I’ve heard of him on undercover jobs, but we’ve never met. He doesn’t know what I look like. It shouldn’t be a problem.”

“You don’t sound sure,” Clint says.

“I’m sure.” He bites his lip for a moment, then pastes a confident look on his face. “It’s just a new wrinkle to navigate.”

“Okay,” Clint says. “I trust you. It won’t be a problem.”

* * *

It’s a problem.

Clint’s not entirely sure how it happens, really. It’s probably good he’s not a spy, because he can’t figure out how they go from being guests at the party to being tied to chairs in a back room. All he knows is that there were guns, and growled instructions, and that James had so smoothly stepped in front of him, putting his body between Clint and a potential bullet like it wasn’t any big deal.

They give his hearing aids back, at least. They’re jamming the frequency so the comms part doesn’t work, but as soon as they realize he can’t hear without them, Clint finds them being shoved uncomfortably back in his ears. It’s weird, like someone else putting glasses on his face, and he shakes his head a couple times to try and get them settled right. It doesn’t really help.

“Barnes,” says the guy—Rumlow, Clint reminds himself—as he walks in front of them. They’re in some kind of small back room—feels like a meat locker, honestly, and judging by the hooks on the ceiling, that’s probably not too far off. It’s damn cold, too, making him shiver in his uncomfortable metal seat. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“I was invited,” Clint says.

Rumlow glances at him, eyebrows drawing together. “I...wasn’t talking to you?”

“Oh,” Clint says, his ears suddenly turning red. _Fake name, dumbass_. ”I’m—sorry.”

“Don’t apologize to this bastard,” James says in a lazy drawl. “Rumlow. I’m surprised to see you here. I thought you were selling guns to children on the other side of the world.”

“I’m a busy man,” Rumlow says. “I have things to do. What’s SHIELD doing at this party, huh?”

“Who says we’re here with SHIELD?” James asks. “Maybe I just wanted to get dressed up and take a pretty boy on a date.”

“Aw, baby,” Clint says, trying to play along despite the fear trickling into him. “You make me feel so special.”

“Anything for you.” James winks at him, but Clint can read the tenseness in his shoulders. He’s _worried_ , and that makes Clint a little bit nervous. He doesn’t know this Rumlow guy, but he knows the types. The swaggering, and the posturing, and the everything else—he’s been out with guys like this before. They’re usually the types to push too far and pay too little.

“Now, now,” Rumlow says. “Let’s not play games with each other. I just want some information. If you talk to me, we can make this painless. I’m not looking to break kneecaps or anything. I just want to know what SHIELD knows.”

James snorts. “Right,” he says. “Let me tell you that, along with all of our other secrets. I’ll get right on that.”

Rumlow sighs in mock-disappointment. “I should’ve known.” He leans forward, running his hand through James’ hair. “That’s okay. You can play the stubborn tough guy. Lucky for me, there’s two of you here. And I haven’t met this one before.” He turns around and smiles at Clint, too wide and too sharp. “What’s your name, pretty boy?”

“Clint,” Clint says, because there’s no point in trying to lie. Not when they have his name on the invitation.

“Hey,” James says. “He’s not part of this, Rumlow. He’s just a guy I invited along. He’s not an agent.”

“Oh?” Rumlow traces his fingers along Clint’s jaw, smirking as Clint leans back. “Risky business, bringing civilians in here. Don’t worry. I won’t be too hard on him.”

“I’m serious,” James says again. “Don’t touch him.”

“I really don’t know anything,” Clint says. “He’s right. I’m not—I’m just—“ He almost says _an escort,_ but he doesn’t want to give this guy any ideas. “I’m just an acquaintance. I barely even know him.”

“You looked pretty close,” Rumlow says. “He was certainly leaning all over you.” He trails his fingertips over Clint’s shoulders, then slowly pulls his tie loose. Clint swallows back his flash of anger. “I mean, I don’t blame him. I would be too.”

“It’s a show,” Clint says. “He doesn’t—it’s just a show. Playing at being other people. You’re a spy, you get it.”

“I’m not a spy,” Rumlow corrects. “Not even close. I’m just a man with a plan, and unfortunately, you two are interrupting it.” He pops open the top button on Clint’s shirt. “So, tell me. What does SHIELD know?”

He’s looking at Clint, but the question is directed at James, and suddenly Clint has a sinking feeling about how this is going to go. Rumlow believes he doesn’t know anything. This is about James.

“Don’t,” he says, looking at James. “Don’t. I’m—I can handle it.”

“Ohh,” Rumlow says with relish. “Another tough guy?” He presses his fingers under Clint’s chin and tips it up. “This’ll be _fun_.”

“Not the face,” Clint says, because he knows what’s coming, and he’s really tired of getting hit in the face. Kinda ruins the escort thing, and that’s the only source of income he has right now. “Please.”

“Okay,” Rumlow agrees, and sinks a fist into his gut instead.

Clint’s no stranger to taking hits. He’s been beat up dozens of times in his life, most of them self-inflicted, and so this really isn’t anything new. Still—Rumlow hits _hard_ , and despite the fact that he’s expecting it, it somehow still manages to take him by surprise. He wheezes, doubling over as much as he can.

“Clint!” Bucky says—not yelling, but something close to it. “Rumlow, stop it, he doesn’t have anything—”

“He _knows_ that,” Clint gasps, pushing himself back upright. “C’mon, James.”

“Kid’s got a better handle on this than you do,” Rumlow says, patting Clint’s head. “You can make this stop, Barnes. You know how. Tell me what I want to know, and I’ll leave him alone.”

Clint flicks his gaze to James. “Don’t,” he says quietly. He doesn’t know much about this operation, but he can see Nat’s expression, and the way she’d hugged him when he agreed to help—this is too big for him to compromise over a couple of punches. “I can take it.”

“Clint—”

“I can take it,” he snaps, maybe a little rougher than he means to.

“You heard him,” Rumlow says, pulling Clint’s head back sharply. “He can take it.”

James looks at him, a dark expression on his face. “We’re here for you,” he says after a moment.

Rumlow makes a skeptical noise. “You didn’t know I was going to be here.”

“I lied.” James nods towards the outer wall. “We’ve got a team out there, we’ve been tracking you for months. I’m supposed to bring you in. Clint’s just a cover.”

That gets a laugh. “ _Just_ a cover?”

Clint winces as his head is pulled back more. “Hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Rumlow coos. “Look at him.” He tips Clint’s head down, forcing him to look at James. And yeah, he looks worried, and yeah, he looks pissed, but there’s something else in his face too—something a little stronger, maybe, a little more—

_Oh_ , Clint thinks, and he suddenly very much regrets not kissing him before.

“There you go,” Rumlow says pleasantly, and punches him again—in the face this time, because he’s an asshole. Clint lets his head roll with it, and hopes the bruising isn’t too much. “Anyway. I know you’re lying. You’re here for Pierce. What was the plan?”

“I can’t tell you that,” James says, looking at Clint. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

“I know,” Clint says softly. “It’s okay, James.”

Rumlow sighs in mock-disappointment. “James, James, James,” he says, shaking his head, and Clint would accuse him of being a bad movie villain if he wasn’t afraid to make it worse.

Then again—

“You sound like a Bond villain,” he says. “Like, one of the awful ones. The _Quantum of Solace_ guy, maybe.”

James frowns. “Hey. I like that one.”

“Oh, why? That’s like, one of the worst ones. Nobody likes that one.”

“It’s got the poker game—”

“No, that’s _Casino Royale_.”

“Oh, you’re right. My bad.”

Rumlow is looking back and forth between the two of them, a slightly bemused look on his face. “If you’re done,” he says. “James. Are you sure?”

“Just hit me,” Clint says. “He’s not going to answer.”

“Okay,” Rumlow says cheerfully, and hits him again.

Clint kinda loses track of things after that. There’s a ringing in his ears, and he thinks his nose might be bleeding—not broken, at least, but definitely bleeding. The inside of his cheek is torn too, and he spits out a mouthful of blood on the floor. “I’d say you hit like a girl,” he says thickly, “but I know a girl, and honest, she hits way better than you do.”

“Just one girl, huh?” James asks, the worry in his voice betraying the blank expression on his face. “No others?”

“Just the one,” Clint says. “She’s all I need, really.”

“Fair. She’s pretty much the whole package.”

Rumlow slaps Clint across the face—not even painful, just petty. “This is just the beginning,” he says. “I’m just waiting for the tools to get here. I hope you aren’t too attached to your fingers.”

Clint spits another mouthful of blood on the floor. “I dunno. They’ve kinda grown on me.”

There’s a rumbling sound from outside, and overheard, the lights flicker. They all look up, and for the first time, Clint sees a hint of worry cross Rumlow’s expression.

James sits forward suddenly. “Rumlow,” he says.

Rumlow turns. “What.”

“You’ve got about ten seconds to back away from him,” James says. “Or you’re going to regret it.”

He snorts. “And just what do you think you’re going to do?”

“ _I’m_ not going to do anything,” James says. “But that girl he talked about—”

The door to the meat locker slams open, light spilling in from the outside hall. Standing in it is a familiar figure, holding a massive rifle—

“Hey, darlin’,” Clint croaks, and he must be a little loopy, because he never calls Natasha that.

“Hi, yourself,” she says anyway, and fires. A comically large dart leaves the gun, lodging itself in Rumlow’s chest. He blinks, looks down at it with a surprised expression, and then wavers a little. James manages to scoot his chair just in time for Rumlow to collapse, missing him by inches.

“Huh,” Clint says. “I thought that’d be more dramatic.”

“Sorry,” Natasha says, shouldering the rifle and coming over to free them. “You watch too many movies.” She skims her fingers over him, scowling a little. “Shit. I was hoping to get here before all this.”

“My fault,” James says. “I let them get the drop on us. I should’ve known better.”

“It’s okay,” Clint assures them. “I’m fine. You get your bad guy?”

“We got him. He’s in custody right now. He left as soon as Rumlow took you two. We were able to intercept his car. Coulson’s got him.”

James grins coldly. “Good,” he says, and gets up. “I hope you were gentle.” He leans down and nudges Rumlow with his foot, then picks him up like he doesn’t weigh a damn thing, swinging him over a shoulder. Clint has to look away for a moment, lest he start imagining _himself_ in that position.

“Extremely gentle,” Nat says. Her smile matches James’, and Clint suspects that their definition of gentle might be a little skewed. “Anyway.”

“Anyway.” James looks at Clint. “Come on. Let’s get you checked out.”

“I’m really okay,” Clint says. “Had way worse.”

“Yeah, well. Call it liability or whatever. You’re a civilian. We have to.”

Clint grumbles, but he follows Natasha out the door. The party is dispersing, SHIELD agents onsite and directing people to various places. She leads him down the steps and into a car, and they drive back to the safe house, where she makes him sit in a chair so she can doctor his wounds. “Here,” she says, setting a dish of chocolates in front of him, a mix of dark and milk chocolate. “Sit still.”

“This is blatant bribery,” Clint says, but he starts eating them anyway, picking out the milk chocolate ones, pausing occasionally to let her work. James shows up about ten minutes later, sans Rumlow, and immediately comes to check on him.

“There,” Nat says, putting one more bandage on his face. “You’re released.” She tilts his chin a little, a proud look on her face. “Makeup held up well though.”

“That’s what happens when a professional does it,” Clint says, and she smiles slightly, then kisses his forehead.

“You okay?” James asks quietly as she moves to the other side of the kitchen.

“Mmhmm.” He eats another chocolate. “You find a ditch to leave Rumlow in?”

James grins. “SHIELD custody. Close enough.”

Clint grins back. “I’m glad you caught him,” he says. “Both of them.”

“Me too,” he says quietly. “I almost feel like it was too easy. But this is the first time we’ve been able to pick either of them up. So, that’s something. We’ll see what happens next.”

Clint shrugs. “Glad I could help.”

James reaches forward and gently thumbs over the bruise on Clint’s face. “I’m sorry you got wrapped up in this so much,” he says softly. “It really wasn’t supposed to go that way.”

“Life’s like chocolates,” Clint says, unwrapping another one and popping it in his mouth. “Or something like that.”

James looks amused. “You never know what you’re gonna get?”

“No I mean—like the fancy stuff, you know? A little bitter, a little sweet. Sometimes bitter stuff happens, and it sucks, but then there’s good stuff too.” Clint looks over at Natasha. “I mean—look at _my_ life. I got a whole bunch of bitter things, but there’s good stuff too.”

James is studying him, an unreadable expression on his face. “That’s optimistic for someone who just took a beating they didn’t have to.”

“I can’t dwell on the bitter things,” Clint says. “I went down that road, once. I just—I can’t, James. Is the life I wanted? Maybe not, but it’s what I got. And I kinda like it, anyway. Other than the random assholes punching me for information I don’t have. That sucked.”

“I bet,” James says, reaching forward, fingers skating over a bruise. “I’m sorry, again. For what it’s worth.”

“I heard you.” He unwraps a fourth chocolate and takes a little bite. “Question, though.”

“Mmhmm?”

“Was I just a cover?” He leans back against the counter. “I mean—I know I _was_ a cover. But was that it? Like you said?”

James presses his lips together, then shakes his head. “I don’t know,” he says after a moment. “No? Yes?” He rubs his hand over his face and lets out a short laugh. “Sorry. I’m not good at this.”

“I don’t need a big emotional speech,” Clint says. “Don’t want one, either. I just...would like to know. If he was right. If there is more.” He takes another bite, letting the chocolate melt a little before adding, “I wouldn’t mind. If there is. If you want.”

James drops his hand, fixing Clint with an intense look. “Yeah?” he asks, and there’s so much _hope_ in that word that it almost knocks Clint off his feet. “Would you? Really?”

“Definitely,” Clint says, and is surprised to find how much he means it. Not that he would’ve said so if he didn’t, but it’s just...strange. He’d thought, once upon a time, that Natasha was the only person he’d ever truly feel comfortable with—in or outside the bedroom. But now...

Well. Now there’s _possibilities_.

“I’m not gonna quit working,” Clint says preemptively, because if James has a problem with it, he needs to know now. “I like what I do. I’m not going to stop.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to,” James says, handing him another chocolate before he can reach for it. “I don’t—it doesn’t bother me or anything. Like you said, it’s your life. As long as you’re safe and happy, that’s all I care about.”

“Okay. Good.” Clint unwraps it, making a face as he pops it in his mouth, double checking the wrapper. “Ack. Dark chocolate. Gross.”

“I like dark chocolate,” James says softly, and there’s a look on his face Clint’s never seen before. He moves a little closer, pressing Clint against the counter. Clint should feel trapped, maybe, but he doesn’t. Not even a little bit. If anything, he feels more alive than he has in a long time.

Across the kitchen, he sees Nat watching. Her expression is blank, but there’s a quiet approval in her eyes, and she nods once as their eyes meet.

He doesn’t know what this is going to look like, in the future, if it’s going to mess with what he and Nat already have. But he thinks between the three of them, they might be able to work something out. Thinks there might be room for potentials, and possibilities, and a more intimate connection with his two favorite people, and the thought makes his entire body warm with happiness. 

“You can have it,” he says, returning his attention to James. “The chocolate.”

He smirks a little. “You just ate it.”

Clint grins. “Still some here,” he says, pointing at his lower lip. “You wanna get it for me?”

“Absolutely,” James says, and leans down to kiss him.

**Author's Note:**

> betaed by Harishe, thanks
> 
> I'm on [tumblr!](https://feedmecookiesnow.tumblr.com/)


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